The Evan Buckley Thrillers: Books 1 - 4 (Evan Buckley Thrillers Boxsets)

by James, Harper

He was back in Hendricks’ basement with the door he’d just discovered cracked open an inch, a damp, fetid smell flowing into the basement from behind it. But there’d been another smell behind that. A smell that made him spit to clear his mouth of the taste it carried with it.

  The smell of something dead.

  Guillory was talking. He didn’t hear a word. His mind was working overtime now, making connections he didn’t want to make. The length of damp rope in the basement, the hollow sound and smell from behind the door. A man with a hunting bow and a grudge, a missing child. And a note left on the seat of his car in his sister’s garage.

  No, not a note—half a note on a piece of paper torn in two.

  Protect what you love

  He knew then exactly where he’d find the other half of that note and the thought turned his blood cold.

  The cops were talking to him. Everybody was talking to him. He couldn’t hear a damn thing over the roaring in his ears.

  He had to go back to Hendricks’ farm, back down into the basement, find out what was behind that door.

  ‘Evan!’

  The shout made him sit up like he’d sat on a cattle prod. But it sent a spike of reason through the addled thoughts crashing around inside his head. He couldn’t go back now. Floyd was still there. Even if he got Guillory to persuade the two cops to go back with him, take care of Floyd, he still wouldn’t be able to get through the door.

  Then it came to him. The padlock was new, Floyd must have put it there. So Floyd must have the key. Suddenly everything was turned on its head. A moment ago, all he wanted was to get away from Floyd. Now, he—they—needed to get back to the farm immediately before Floyd had a chance to get away.

  ‘Kate—’

  ‘Meet me at your sister’s as soon—’

  ‘Kate! Listen to me for once.’

  There was a stunned silence. He wished he had the time to savor it.

  ‘I think I know where he is.’

  Just saying the words made his palms slick, the back of his neck clammy. He swallowed hard. Concentrate on what needs to be done now. Don’t think about anything else, what you might find.

  ‘You don’t mean ... you think he’s at Hendricks’ farm?’

  ‘You have to trust me, Kate, there isn’t time to explain.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Her voice was hesitant, like she was being asked to try out something new, something radical and untested—something with catastrophic consequences if it all went wrong.

  ‘You have to persuade these jokers’—he looked out the window at them as he said it—‘to go back there with me now. Floyd’s there. We need to catch him before he disappears.’

  ‘Pass the phone over.’

  Evan held the phone out to the one who’d already spoken to her, getting a dirty look from the other one. The guy took it, listened to Guillory’s urgent instructions, his face going through a range of emotions, ending up with sullen resignation. He handed the phone back to Evan.

  ‘Shit,’ he said, a three-syllable word. He looked at his partner. ‘We got to go with him.’

  The partner gave him a long-suffering look—really? —then stared at Evan. Evan smiled tightly at him.

  ‘To protect him,’ the first one said, enjoying the emphasis he put on the word. ‘There might be some guy at the Hendricks place. Sounds like a crock of shit to me.’

  He shrugged, what can you do?

  ‘No lights, no siren,’ Evan said to them. ‘We don’t want this guy to know we’re coming.’

  They looked at each other, shared another look.

  Do you believe this guy?

  ‘Move it, guys,’ Evan called out the window, pulling across the road to make a U-turn. ‘You might get to shoot somebody if you’re lucky.’

  ***

  THEY WERE TOO LATE. Floyd was gone.

  He wasn’t still in the yard and Evan doubted he was in the house, relaxing with a cold beer after his busy day’s work. And he had been busy, very busy. His handiwork came into view as Evan swung the SUV into Hendricks’ driveway and drove around the house. He braked hard, the shock of the sight making him stamp on the brakes harder than he meant to. Harder than the cops behind him expected him to, that was for sure. The SUV came to an abrupt halt, efficient German brakes and new tires doing their job as Germans demand they do. There was the crunch of metal on metal and the SUV lurched forward again throwing Evan’s head into the headrest as the police cruiser slammed into the back of it.

  He bet they thought he did it deliberately. He didn’t care.

  He climbed out the car, unable to take his eyes off the sight in front of him. A couple of crows took to the air, their large wings flapping noisily, as they reluctantly left their prize. The two cops got out the cruiser, barely glanced at the damage to the front end and stood beside Evan.

  The slow day sure as hell wasn’t slow any more.

  Evan looked off to the side, saw the body of the guy Floyd had shot through the neck lying in a heap on the other side of the yard. He looked all around, couldn’t see the body of Floyd’s dog. Was Floyd off somewhere giving the animal a decent Christian burial?

  In contrast to what he’d done for—or to—the man who killed her.

  The yard was eerily silent as the three men stood and stared. The wind that usually blew in off the open fields that made Evan think the place should be called Cold Blow Farm was still. One of the cops ran a hand through his hair. The other one cleared his throat.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ one of them said, it didn’t matter who. He spoke for them all.

  The two crows landed on the roof of the house and started squabbling noisily. One of them cawed loudly, irreverently, as it took to the air again, circling above them, eager for them to move away. Evan looked up at it. He supposed it made a pleasant change from roadkill.

  He looked back at what the birds saw as their rightful prize.

  One wall of the smaller barn had survived the fire that was meant to remove forever the reminder of what had happened in this place. It was charred and blackened but basically intact. About eight-feet tall at the highest point and maybe ten-feet in length it was certainly big enough to nail a man to.

  Floyd had thought so.

  The man who shot his dog was spread-eagled upside-down, his hands and feet nailed to the wooden barn wall. Evan didn’t need to be a hunter to know Floyd had field-dressed him. A vertical cut ran from his groin up—or down, seeing as he was upside-down—to his sternum, the body cavity pulled apart to expose the organs within.

  Evan didn’t need to be an expert on internal organs either, to see that a lot of them had been removed. If the dog had still been alive, it would’ve dined well that evening. Seeing as it wasn’t, he didn’t want to pursue that train of thought any further.

  There was a sudden chugging, heaving sound as the cop who spoke to Guillory turned away and threw up copiously. Evan didn’t suppose he saw much of this sort of thing as a traffic cop—even a ten-car pile-up on the freeway wouldn’t come close to this level of savagery. He felt a little queasy himself.

  The everyday sound of the cop retching into the dirt broke the moment. His partner turned away from the sight in front of them and walked back to the cruiser to call it in.

  The other one stopped retching and stood up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He spat noisily a couple times, not meeting Evan’s eyes.

  ‘There’s another one over there,’ Evan said, angling his head at the corpse on the ground. ‘It’s not as bad as the one nailed to the wall. He’s been shot in the throat.’

  The cop’s mouth turned down in a scowl, his pride now demanding he take a look. He walked past Evan, straightening his shoulders, still not meeting Evan’s eyes. Evan fell into step beside him. As they stood and looked down at the guy with the novel neck decoration, Evan was acutely aware he still had the guy’s gun stuffed down the back of his pants.

  He thought briefly about giving it to the cop. No, he’d keep it for now. As it turned out, t
hat would be one of his better decisions that day. Even though it wouldn’t make up for not blowing the back of Floyd’s head off earlier, it was a move in the right direction.

  The cop was very still next to him. He glanced at him, saw his Adam’s apple bob a couple times. The guy was very pale, a heaving sound coming from his chest like he was trying hard not to lose his lunch for the second time.

  Evan turned away to give him a little space. He went back to the SUV to call Guillory, let her know what they’d need to break down the door in the basement with the bad smell behind it. He kept his eyes averted from the man nailed to the wall. It wasn’t because he thought he might embarrass himself by being sick, it was more of a vain attempt to stop his mind making a connection between a man with his guts hanging out and a bad smell behind a locked door.

  Chapter 48

  EVAN’S HEART DROPPED A second after Guillory got out of her car. That was when Ryder got out of the other side. He wanted to say to her, what the hell did you bring him for? He didn’t care if he was her partner or not. He didn’t like what happened to her when she was with him. She took on that cop persona, the way they had of carrying themselves that was loose and wary at the same time, the hard caution in their eyes even when they were laughing. The feeling that one wrong word and you could go from being their friend to their enemy in a split second—and he could teach most people a thing or two about wrong words.

  ‘Looking good, Buckley,’ Ryder said with a supercilious smirk on his fat face and carried on walking to take a look at Floyd’s little wall hanging.

  Evan pictured himself pulling the gun out from the back of his pants and putting a couple of slugs in his butt. He touched his face instead to see if there was any still wet blood or brain matter to flick at the back of his head.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ Guillory said, stopping beside him, staring at the guy nailed to the wall. ‘Floyd did that, did he?’

  ‘Guy shot his dog.’

  She shrugged like that explained everything.

  ‘He’s a piece of work.’

  Evan bit his tongue.

  That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.

  Evan’s phone rang. He checked the display, didn’t answer it.

  ‘Your sister?’ Guillory said.

  He nodded.

  ‘I wouldn’t answer if I was you,’ she said. ‘There’s no point telling her we’re just about to find out. Wait another five minutes and we’ll know.’

  He nodded again, happy to let her make the decision he didn’t want to. He put the phone in his pocket. He didn’t suppose Charlotte would ever speak to him again after this, whatever way it panned out.

  ‘C’mon, let’s hope you’re wrong about this,’ she said and headed towards the house. ‘You still thinking about buying this place?’

  It was meant as an innocent, off-the-cuff remark to take his mind off what they were doing. Then the implications of what she’d just said made her breath catch. If he was right, this house would be the last place he’d ever want to set foot on again. She put a hand on his arm.

  ‘Sorry.’

  He shook his head, too wired to take any notice of an unintentionally insensitive remark.

  The yard was full of police and police vehicles now, the air charged with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. Men carrying an assortment of wrecking bars, battering rams and other equipment stood waiting, their faces somber at the prospect of what they might find. Someone fired up a portable generator, adding to the noise in the yard. Another guy stood by with a couple of industrial-size portable floodlights.

  ‘Lead the way,’ Guillory said with a sweep of her hand.

  Evan’s legs wouldn’t respond immediately. He didn’t know if he wanted to lead the way and be at the forefront when they broke down the door, or sit on the steps out here and wait for the news, good or bad.

  Ryder took the decision out of his hands, pushing his way through the throng.

  ‘You best stay here Buckley, where you can’t cause any more trouble,’ he said and pushed Evan aside. ‘Leave this to the professionals.’

  Evan put a hand on his chest and gave him a hard shove back.

  ‘Fuck you, donut.’

  There was a ripple of barely stifled sniggers which just made Ryder’s face get even redder than it normally was. Guillory didn’t bother trying to hide her grin, gave Ryder a look that said you deserved that.

  Evan took a step towards Ryder. He was in the mood to punch his head into next week, damn the consequences.

  Nothing came out of Ryder’s mouth for a second before he found his voice.

  ‘You—’

  Guillory stepped between them, her back to Ryder, her eyes on Evan’s.

  ‘We haven’t got time for this.’

  He held her stare a moment, mouthed later to Ryder over her shoulder. With a look on her face that said wait until I get you home, she took hold of his elbow and turned him around, gave him a gentle shove towards the door.

  He went inside, Guillory right behind him, then the guys with the gear, Ryder bringing up the rear. He led the way through the kitchen that looked as if a small tornado had passed through, on down the hall to the door at the top of the basement stairs. He stood to the side to let a guy running cable from the generator outside go down first, closely followed by the guy with the floodlights. Then they all piled down the stairs after them as the basement lit up below them.

  Evan took the key off the nail and unlocked the door, pushed it open the inch that the hasp would allow. The same dank, fetid smell flowed into the basement.

  ‘Reckon there’s an old well down there,’ somebody said.

  It made sense, explained why the length of rope Evan found was damp. It also opened up the possibility of a whole bunch of other things Evan didn’t want to think about. In his mind he’d always pictured another chamber like the others he’d found. He’d never imagined a well plunging down into the bottomless depths of the earth.

  The other odor behind the dampness was stronger now. Soon it would be the dominant smell. A thought went through his mind, just like everyone else in the room. Luckily no one gave voice to it.

  Reckon there’s something else down there too.

  ‘You okay with this?’ Guillory said to him.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘You don’t sound it. Why don’t you stand at the back?’

  It was phrased as a question but he knew her well enough to recognize an instruction-cum-order. The subtext was clear.

  So we can shield you from whatever we find.

  It was a compromise, better than banishing him from the room altogether. He nodded and moved through the men in the basement, shouldered his way past Ryder.

  ‘Room for a fat one up front,’ he muttered under his breath.

  He sat down on the second step, stared at the backs of the men in front of him, heard the creak of wood and metal straining against each other as they jammed the wrecking bar between the padlock and the door. It didn’t sound like it was getting far.

  His phone pinged in his pocket. From Charlotte, no doubt. Texting him because he wouldn’t answer his phone. He pulled it out, looked at the display. Everything was about to be turned on its head once more.

  It wasn’t Charlotte.

  It was Floyd.

  ***

  EVAN STOOD UP QUIETLY and crept back up the stairs. He needn’t have worried with the amount of noise in the basement, the intense attention of everyone in there channeled towards the unyielding door.

  He stared at his phone, read the message.

  For reasons he couldn’t put his finger on he was sure it wasn’t Kyle’s body causing the smell coming from the well behind the door. It was all part of the sick, twisted game Floyd and Hendricks were playing. The words in front of his eyes now were what this was really about. They held the answer to where Kyle was being held, an invitation to the final stage of the game.

  The answer was in the text message.

  There�
�s none so BLIND as those who cannot see.

  It usually meant there’s no point trying to reason with someone who refuses to listen to reason. That wasn’t the case here. Nobody was saying anything to him, trying to reason with him, least of all Floyd. Something niggled at the back of his mind. Something wasn’t right. Floyd was an uneducated man, might not grasp the real meaning behind the phrase. What if he simply meant ...

  He laughed out loud at his own stupidity, read the text again and understood what Floyd was saying to him. He’d jumped to conclusions again, seen what he was expecting to see, not what was written. The text didn’t say those who will not see which is how he’d read it. It said those who cannot see.

  All Floyd was saying to him was, it’s right under your nose and you can’t see it.

  Kyle was somewhere nearby, somewhere Evan ought to be able to find him. And Floyd wanted Evan to find him. Because that’s where he’d be too, waiting for the ultimate showdown, the end of the game. Why else would he have intervened, stopped Vasiliev’s men from dragging him away? He had no beef with them, not until they killed his dog, anyway.

  He stared at the message again, waiting for divine inspiration, any inspiration.

  BLIND

  Why was the word capitalized? Was it just Floyd taunting him? Or was he telling him something else?

  Evan found himself wandering aimlessly in the yard. He’d been so engrossed in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed he’d walked through the house and come outside. Floyd’s gruesome tableau was immediately in front of him, flies buzzing obscenely in the body cavity.

  Was there some clue in what Floyd had done, some significance to the way he was nailed to the wall upside down? It wasn’t as if one of his arms had been nailed pointing in any particular direction: this way to your death, Buckley.

  Floyd had field-dressed the guy, like you would a deer. What did that tell him? Floyd was a hunter. So what, he’d known that the moment he saw the bow, the first time he was in the kitchen.

  He’d removed half the entrails, left the rest. Was it because he planned to eat them, but only had a small appetite, couldn’t manage a whole portion of innards in one sitting?